


A Punnet of Memory

by helsinkibaby



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Community: 1-million-words, F/M, Fluff, Post Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will sits Kate down to watch the Wimbledon Men's Singles Final.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Punnet of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> For the 1_million_words word of the day "Punnet" and also for my Cotton Candy Bingo round 2 card "tradition"

When Kate arrives downstairs rubbing her bleary eyes, Will is already sitting on the couch, bright eyed and smiling. She hates him just a little for that, the way that he can wake up so quickly while it always seems to take her so much longer - though in the last four months or so of them living together in Oregon, that's about the only thing that irritates her and she knows how lucky she is to be able to say that. 

However, when she sees the plastic punnet of strawberries and carton of cream on the table in front of him, she finds herself revising her opinion. It's one thing to be an early riser but it's far too early for this. 

"So let me get this straight," she says, sitting down beside him, because she knows that this is something that matters to him, even if she doesn't entirely understand it. "It's five in the morning and we're having strawberries and cream for breakfast?"

Will nods, a smile on his face. "As tradition demands it."

He's so firm, so proud somehow that Kate can't figure out how to reply at first.  So she lets that settle for a minute, comes up with, "And you do this every year?"

Again, Will nods, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "It's Wimbledon Men's Singles Final Day... I always watch it live," he says. "Of course, it was easier when we were in Washington... less time difference."

"That would make it easier." Kate stifles a yawn as Will starts to spoon strawberries into a bowl. 

"When I was at Eton," Will says as he works, "my mom would collect me every year on the middle Saturday of the tournament and we'd go... she loved the whole atmosphere, the crowds, the strawberries and cream... then, the next Sunday, men's final day, she'd take me out for lunch and we'd watch the match together... We did that every year, until she got sick." He's concentrating on the bowls, the strawberries, not looking at her and Kate's glad because she can feel tears pooling in her eyes. 

She's never heard him talk about his mother before. 

By the time he's poured cream over both bowls, she's got a hold of herself and she smiles as she takes the bowl from him. 

Until he says, "You're the first person to watch it with me since she died."

Just like that, the tears are back and there's a lump in her throat that it's hard to speak past. Because they're bad at professions of affection, both of them, and talking about their feelings is something they never do. So to hear those words from Will, when what he's already told her would have been enough for her to hear, that's special. 

She smiles at him, glances at the television screen. "I know nothing about tennis," she tells him. "You're gonna get sick of me asking you questions."

"Never." Once again, Will sounds sure, firm, unshakable - some of her favourite words to describe him. "It can be a new tradition... One that's ours."

He's grinning and she's grinning back - she likes the sound of that.


End file.
